Light on Lucrezia: A Novel of the Borgia - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,7
but he appeared to lack Sanchia’s wantonness, and there was about him an earnest desire to please which Sanchia lacked and which was endearing.
Lucrezia was moved by the way he clung to his sister and the display of emotion between them.
Then he was standing before his bride, those beautiful blacklashed blue eyes wide with a surprise which he found it impossible to suppress.
“I am Lucrezia Borgia,” said Lucrezia.
It was easy to read his thoughts, for there was a simplicity about him which reminded her that she was his senior, if only by a little. He had heard evil tales of her and he had expected … What had he expected? A brazen, depraved creature to strike terror into him? Instead he found a gentle girl, a little older than himself but seeming as young, tender, serene, gentle and very beautiful.
He kissed her hands, and his lips were warm and clinging; his blue eyes were filled with emotion as they were lifted to her face.
“My delight is beyond expression,” he murmured.
They were not idle words; and in that moment, a little of the dark sorrow which had overshadowed her during the last months was lifted.
Sanchia was reclining on a couch, surrounded by her ladies, when Cesare was announced.
She had been telling them that before long they would have to say good-bye to little Goffredo, because he would no longer be her husband. The method employed in the Sforza divorce had been so successful that His Holiness was tempted to repeat it.
“But I,” she was saying, “shall not be six months pregnant when I stand before the Cardinals and declare my marriage has not been consummated.”
Loysella, Francesca, and Bernardina laughed with delight. Their mistress’s adventures were a source of great pleasure to them and were emulated by them to the best of their ability.
She had made them swear to secrecy, and this they had done.
“Your future husband is at the door,” whispered Loysella.
Sanchia tapped her cheek playfully. “Then you had better leave me. I asked him to come. I demanded that he should.”
“You must get him accustomed to obedience,” laughed Bernardina.
But Cesare was already in the room and even their frivolity was stemmed. He looked at them imperiously, not assessing their obvious charms as he sometimes did, but impatiently as though they were inanimate objects which offended his eyes. They might joke about him when he was not present, but as soon as he made his appearance they were conscious of that power within him to strike terror.
They curtsied hurriedly and went out of the room, leaving him alone with their mistress.
Sanchia lifted a hand. “Come, Cesare,” she said, “sit beside my couch.”
“You wished to see me?” he asked, sitting down.
“I did. I am not very pleased with you, Cesare.”
He raised his eyebrows haughtily, and her blue eyes shone with sudden anger as she went on: “My brother is in Rome. He has been here a whole day and night, yet you have ignored him. Is this the courtesy you have to show to a Prince of Naples?”
“Oh … but a bastard,” murmured Cesare.
“And you … my fine lord … what are you, pray?”
“Soon to be the ruler of Italy.”
Her eyes flashed. It would be so. She was sure of it, and she was proud of him. If any could unite Italy and rule it, that man was Cesare Borgia. She would be beside him when he reigned supreme. Cesare Borgia would need a queen, and she was to be that queen. She was exultant and intensely happy, for there was one man to whom she longed to be married, and that was this man, Cesare Borgia. And it would be so. As soon as she was divorced their marriage would take place, and the whole of Italy would soon have to recognize her as its Queen.
He was looking at her now, and she held out her arms. He embraced her, but even as she put her arms about his neck she sensed his absentmindedness.
She withdrew herself and said: “But I demand that you pay my brother the respect due to him.”
“That have I done. He merits little.”
She brought up her hand and slapped his face. He took her by the wrist and a smile of pleasure crossed his face as he twisted her arm until she squealed with the pain.
“Stop,” she cried. “Cesare, I implore you. You will break my bones.”
“ ’Twill teach you not to behave like a beggar on the Corso.”